


The Children's Hour

by Azar, JJ (Azar), Nightdancer (Azar)



Category: Forever Knight, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-03
Updated: 2010-04-03
Packaged: 2017-10-08 16:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azar/pseuds/Azar, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azar/pseuds/JJ, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azar/pseuds/Nightdancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When childhood never ends, innocence dies young.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is an extremely AU version of the Forever Knight episode "Ashes to Ashes," based on the premise, "What if Divia had met and teamed up with the child Immortal, Kenny, from Highlander?" It is also AU for Highlander due to certain revelations that happen differently in this story than they did in canon.

> _Between the dark and the daylight,  
> When the light is beginning to lower,  
> Comes a pause in the day's occupations  
> That is known as the Children's Hour._  
> \--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "The Children's Hour"

 

"Mister! Help me, please! My brother's hurt!"

The man looked down at the hand tugging on his sleeve, which belonged to a thin-faced twelve-year-old girl.

"Please," she begged again, her eyes wide with panic. "He got hit by a car that just kept going--he's not moving and I think he's dying!"

With those words, her panic spread to him and he nodded. "All right, where is he?"

Still pulling on his hand like a child much younger than her years, the girl led him to a dark corner, where the street split off into a narrow alley. "I...I pulled him out of the street as much as I could," she explained tearfully. "But he was so heavy--"

Her adult companion nodded, his heart sinking. The faint but growing sensation in his mind gave away her brother's condition--he was not dying, he had already died and was just beginning to wake up. When they reached the body in the alley, the Immortal looked at it with even greater dismay. Her brother was not much older than she was. And now, he would be trapped in childhood forever.

The older Immortal sighed. Well, the least he could do would be to teach the boy the Game anyway, even though there was no way he would ever survive it. He turned back to the girl.

"He'll be all right, kid--"

A low growl stopped him and he looked at her in surprise. Shock faded into horror as he saw that her brown eyes had shifted to a sinister golden color. Then, she smiled, revealing two sharp white fangs.

Before he had time to do more than gasp, she grabbed him with inhuman strength and sank her teeth into his throat. When she let the corpse fall to the ground a few moments later, the boy stood and crossed to stand beside her, drawing out a sword much to heavy for his size.

She smiled that same evil smile at him, blood still staining her lips. "Your turn," she hissed.

Returning the smile with equal malice, the boy raised his sword and swung it down, severing the dead Samaritan's head from his neck.

The sound of sinister, childish laughter could be heard even as the Quickening ripped apart the sky.


	2. Chapter 2

**Watcher Headquarters**

There was a soft rap on the door and Adam Pierson looked up with a frown. Joe Dawson waved at him from the doorway.

"Surprised to find you here," he commented casually.

The other Watcher nodded, his eyes wandering back to the computer screen as his hands flew over the keyboard. This computer was one of the only ones left in the world linked to the Watcher mainframe ever since the incident with the CD ROM.

"I'm trying to find information on this latest rash of beheadings. Obviously we've got a new headhunter on our hands, but there's something about it...something that bothers me."

"You mean aside from the fact that in every single case the Watchers somehow managed to miss the fight?" Joe asked, crossing to his friend's side.

"No, including that, actually. What could make Watcher after Watcher desert his post right at the critical moment in their subject's life? It just doesn't make sense. Nor does the fact that so many skilled Immortals would die with barely a fight."

"You're worried, aren't you?" the gray-haired man deduced. "About MacLeod, and Richie--"

"Well, mostly about myself," the other admitted. "But yes, I don't particularly want to see this individual go after MacLeod either. Or either MacLeod, for that matter. The Highlanders are the best chance we have of seeing the Game won by someone who won't abuse the Prize, and I'll be damned if I'll sit back and watch them get taken out by some cheat."

Joe chuckled and the British man gave him a sharp look.

"Oh, I was just thinking what a crock your 'looking out for number one' persona really is. What about Richie, though? Don't you care about him?"

Adam sighed. "To be blunt, Joe, he's young, he's inexperienced, and from what MacLeod tells me, he's far too trusting. Someone's going to take him out, it's just a matter of when."

The other Watcher bristled. "So it doesn't matter if he dies, is that what you're saying?"

"That is not what I'm saying, and you know it," Pierson replied calmly. "From what I can see, he's a good kid and he doesn't deserve to die. But the fact remains; there can be only One. I just don't feel that Richie Ryan has the best chance of being that One. I don't feel that I do, either. It's nothing personal."

Joe sighed and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Well, we'll see. I just hope I don't live to see it--I don't think I could handle losing any one of you."

"Don't go getting sentimental on me, Dawson," Adam warned.

Dawson chuckled. "Face it, Methos, you're a decent guy in spite of yourself."

Methos grumbled under his breath. "Fine. Just don't let it get around--I've a reputation to maintain, after all."

 

* * *

 

**The Raven  
Toronto, Ontario**

For a moment as he came downstairs to open the club, LaCroix thought he felt a familiar presence. It made him pause for a moment, looking around with wary eyes, but the momentary sensation faded before he could pin down the source. A further search through the establishment had only revealed Urs and her master, Vachon, who was comforting her from a nightmare.

Continuing through the establishment, LaCroix couldn't shake the uneasy sense of familiarity. Although whoever it was had gone, if there had ever been anyone in the first place, a certain sinister aura lingered that he could neither dismiss nor place.

The elder vampire continued across the room to the bar. Slipping behind it, he bent down to open the small refrigerator under the counter. There, on the bottom shelf, was a large cardboard box, and the entire unit was filled with an overpowering odor of blood, even stronger than that which usually emanated from the bottles stored within it for the bar's less conventional customers.

Curious but not yet alarmed, LaCroix drew the box out of the refrigerator and set it carefully on the counter. He then opened the flaps, pulling back with a sharp hiss as the contents were revealed.

Staring up at him from within the box was the face of a decapitated head.

_By all the gods!_

LaCroix approached the box again, trembling with rage and a touch of fear. His fingers found a smaller package wrapped in brown paper and fallen down into the long hair of the head. Drawing it gingerly from the box, he let the paper fall open and stared in mute horror at the object revealed within.

In his hands was a black amulet on a heavy gold chain, the pendant inlaid with the ivory cameo of a thin-faced twelve-year-old girl. LaCroix swore again, his fingers curling around the necklace.

_Divia..._

 

* * *

 

"LaCroix?"

Urs stepped into the basement room, staring in surprise at the older vampire. He was standing before the incinerator, dangerously close to the harmful flames, watching an indistinguishable shape slowly withered into black ash.

"LaCroix, is something wrong?" she asked.

He turned to smile serenely at her with the same deceptive calm he was always able to summon onto his face, regardless of the circumstances. "No. I was just...disposing of an inconvenience."

Leaving her to wonder at his words, LaCroix turned and left the room. Urs followed him back into the club, still puzzling at his behavior.

"If you would, please prepare the bar for tonight's guests. I shall be in my office."

"Yes, of course," she agreed. "But what--"

"I need to make a phone call," he told her cryptically and left.

 

* * *

 

Once safely ensconced in his office, LaCroix let out a deep sigh and withdrew the pendant again from his pocket, staring unhappily at the familiar face of the cameo. He watched it for several moments before finally reaching for the phone.

"Good evening. I need to speak with a Mr. Adam Pierson. Immediately, please."

There was a brief silence and the vampire scowled at the unseen party at the other end of the line. "I don't care where he is, I want him found at once," he demanded sharply. "I must speak with him on an urgent matter."

After another silence, this one much longer, another voice picked up the phone, accented with the same English flair that LaCroix had acquired over many centuries spent in that country.

"Methos," the vampire greeted the other man. "It's Lucius. I have information about your headhunter."

 

* * *

 

**Methos' hotel room  
Paris, France**

"Damn! Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, DAMN!!!"

Methos paced the room angrily, trying to absorb what Lucius had told him. If his old friend was right, not only did they have a headhunter on their hands, but a headhunter joined in some sort of unholy alliance with an ancient, evil child-vampire. A vampire who had almost certainly been drinking the blood of the many old and powerful Immortals she had helped to kill.

A vampire who would be almost invincible.

A few quick strides brought him back across the room to the telephone, which he lifted to his ear in a single swift motion. "I'd like to place an international call...yes, damn it, I know how much it costs, just bill it to my room. Thank you."

After several rings, the other end of the line was picked up by a familiar voice with just the slightest remaining trace of a Scottish brogue.

"MacLeod, I hope you're in the mood for company," Methos told the younger man. "Because I'll be arriving in Seacouver tomorrow with an old friend. There's something we need to talk about."


	3. Chapter 3

**the streets of Seacouver, Washington**

Someday he was going to have to find a job somewhere other than at the Dojo, Richie Ryan mused as he steered his motorcycle home from work through the dark streets of Seacouver. As much as he admired Duncan MacLeod, a part of him wanted very much to venture out on his own, to do something that was wholly his. Getting his own place had been a start, but he looked forward to the day when he could say that Mac was not helping him with anything.

As he turned a corner, the sight of a young girl caught his attention. She was standing in the middle of a bustling sidewalk, looking desperately lost. Alarmed, Richie slowed his bike and swung towards the side of the road, hoping to catch a glimpse of some adult who might be responsible for her. When she spotted him, the girl began to wave frantically. Her eyes shone with unshed tears in a face pale with fear.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Richie asked as he pulled up to the curb and let the bike idle.

The girl hiccuped with the effort not to cry. "It's my brother," she sniffed miserably. "He got hit by a car--and the dumb jerk kept going. Help me, please!"

Ire rising in him, Richie revved his engine. "Hold on a second." He found an empty space in a 'No Parking' zone and climbed off the bike. "Where is he?"

The girl scampered ahead of him towards a shadowy alley about a block away. "I moved him out of the way as far as I could," she told him pitifully. "But he was so heavy!"

They hit the mouth of the alley and Richie was suddenly assaulted by the alerting "buzz" that signaled another Immortal's presence. Instantly wary, he slowed his steps, one hand going into his coat to touch the pommel of his sword.

They reached the body and the girl pointed at it. "Will he be all right?" she asked in a plaintive tone.

Looking down, Richie let out a startled sound and drew back. His features tightened in anger. "Okay, what the hell is going on?"

Instantly, the boy on the ground opened his eyes and smiled wickedly. "Richie! Nice to see you again."

Richie took another step back, brandishing his sword. "All right. You want to fight me, fine. But this time you're gonna fight fair!"

Kenny laughed. He sat up and cast a significant glance towards his accomplice. "I don't think so."

The next moment, the young Immortal let out a cry of pain as the girl wrenched his arm behind his back with inhuman strength. The rapier fell helplessly from his fingers as his arm screamed in protest of the abuse.

With her other hand, the inhuman child pulled him against her and hissed in his ear, "Surprise!"

Still in agony, Richie nevertheless managed to force out, "Gonna let a girl do all your dirty work for you, Kenny?"

The child Immortal's smile never faded. "Very observant, Mr. Ryan. Divia's going to kill you, and then I'm going to take your head."

"Shouldn't you just wait until I turn my back? Isn't that more your style?" the young man taunted.

Divia hissed and pulled Richie's head back sharply, causing him to let out another cry of pain. "I really wish you wouldn't talk that way about my lover."

"Your--?" The young Immortal couldn't even finish. His stomach rebelled at the thought.

Raising her eyes to meet Kenny's, she smiled a sinister smile and plunged her teeth into Richie's neck. The young man groaned one last time as consciousness slipped away from him.

 

* * *

**MacLeod's loft  
Seacouver, Washington**

Duncan MacLeod stood warily, reaching for his katana as the Immortal buzz hit him. A moment later he relaxed when the gate of the elevator slid upwards to reveal a familiar face. Another man, a stranger, stood behind him.

"Adam," he stated simply. "Come in."

Methos stepped into the apartment, followed by the other man. "Duncan MacLeod, I'd like you to meet Lucien LaCroix. We need to talk."

Mac turned to shake hands with LaCroix. Whoever he was, he definitely wasn't Immortal, causing the Scot to shake his head in surprise. This was Methos' old friend? He'd been expecting someone much older.

"All three of us?" he asked the older Immortal.

"Unfortunately, yes." Methos turned towards the kitchen. "Excuse me a moment--I need a beer."

Mac nodded. "Do you want something?" he asked LaCroix.

The other man just smiled. "No thank you." Like the ancient Immortal, he spoke with an English accent.

Methos returned with the beer, took a long swig of it and proceeded to plant himself on MacLeod's couch with a deep sigh. The other two men followed.

"So, what's this all about?" Duncan asked.

"I suppose you're aware of the new headhunter we've been getting reports about," the older man began.

Mac nodded, throwing a questioning glance in LaCroix's direction.

"Yes, MacLeod, Lucius knows. He's known about Immortals and about me longer than you have."

Duncan shot his ancient friend another peculiar look at that, but decided the older Immortal must have misspoken.

"Yeah, I've heard about him," the Highlander acknowledged.

"Well, we've got a bigger problem. Whoever this bastard is, he isn't hunting alone."

"Who's he working with?"

"A two-thousand-year-old vampire."

For a moment Mac just stared at Methos, then he laughed. "You know, that's almost funny."

"I wasn't kidding."

Duncan's smile faded. "A vampire? Methos, you can't be serious!"

"I certainly can be, and I damned well *am* serious. Deadly serious."

"But...a vampire?!"

"Is that any more unlikely than the existence of Immortals?" Methos retorted.

Finally the Scot relented. "All right. But what does that have to do with him?" He gestured to LaCroix.

"Quite simply," LaCroix replied, "Divia is my daughter."

"Your...daughter."

The visitor nodded calmly. "She is also, unfortunately, my master. And she is very much alive, even though I myself killed her over nineteen hundred years ago."

"Wait a second--you're--?"

"Also a vampire, yes."

Mac turned to glare at his older friend, who was rapidly draining his beer. "Methos, tell me this is some kind of sick practical joke."

"I wish it was," the ancient Immortal responded wryly. "Unfortunately, it's quite true. Lucius and I met for the first time in Egypt, around 95 AD. At the time, he had just been forced to kill his own child and was in a state of depression the likes of which I've never seen since. I helped him find more of his own kind who would teach him what Divia had been too perverse to, and we've kept in touch ever since."

Duncan just shook his head in disbelief.

"Here, let me get you a beer," Methos suggested, rising from the couch.

"Better make it scotch," the Highlander corrected him. "Somehow, I don't think just a beer is going to get me through this story."


	4. Chapter 4

  
location unknown  
somewhere in Seacouver

Richie groaned as awareness flooded back to him. The unpleasant fact that he was handcuffed standing up to a thick metal pipe in the middle of an empty room quickly dismissed his initial relief that he was still alive.

_Great. The little demons decided to keep me alive. Just perfect._

He forced his eyes open and immediately wished he hadn't. Divia was sitting directly across from his line of vision, watching him with sinister intensity.

"Let me guess--I taste so good you couldn't bear to part with me?" he asked sarcastically.

The child vampire laughed softly, the sound making him feel cold all over. (It was fairly obvious from what had happened that she was a vampire.)

"No, I'm afraid keeping you alive was my Khnum's idea."

"Hate to break it to you, Divia, but his name's Kenny."

"He is my Khnum, my reborn sun," she insisted with unnerving calm. "The name he was born with is of no importance."

"So, why does the little rat want me alive, anyway?" Richie demanded.

"For our amusement," she replied with another creepy smile. "This game we've played is getting dull, so we've decided to try our hands at another one. To bait the trap with a new cheese."

A chill spread over the young Immortal. "And I'm the cheese."

"As my Khnum has said, you are most observant," she sneered.

Richie sighed. "Great. Just for once, I wish someone would use Mac as bait to catch *me*, instead of the other way around."

His child-like captor laughed. "You, a boy barely more than a fledgling? Why would anyone spare a man with such power as this MacLeod to capture _you_?"

"At least I hit puberty," he retorted.

Divia hissed angrily and flew at him. Jerking his head back as she had in the alley, she raked her sharp fingernails painfully down the side of his face. "I have lived more days than you will ever see, you insolent child! Be grateful that we still need you or I swear you would never wake from my kiss!"

With that, she sank her fangs again into his throat and Richie felt the world once more slip mercifully away.

 

* * *

 

**MacLeod's loft**

Duncan turned over the necklace in his hands, studying the features of the girl in the cameo. "So you don't know how she survived?"

"MacLeod, she lived through a _beheading,_ the one thing that can make us stay dead! Of course he doesn't know!"

"Actually, I do have an idea," LaCroix corrected his older friend. "It's a poor one, I suppose, but it's the best we have at the moment."

"Really?" Methos asked. "Do tell."

"In spite of everything, Divia was still my daughter. I may have had to kill her, but I was determined at least to give her a decent resting place. So, I chose the very tomb we were in, the tomb of her slain master--it was both noble in architecture and fittingly vile in company. The seal of Amen-Ra upon the sarcophagus kept her imprisoned, but her master's power, even in death, may have restored her body."

"So, if the seal kept her entombed, why is she out and running around hunting Immortals?" Duncan asked next.

"The seal must have been broken."

MacLeod was still pondering this idea with a dubious expression on his face when the phone rang. "I'll be right back," he told the two ancients and rose to answer it.

He returned a moment later with his face unusually pale. "The police found Richie's bike abandoned on the street."

Methos swore. "Damn. They're already here then."

"Yeah, they're already here, and they may have killed a very good friend of mine," Duncan retorted, rising to pace the room.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"You don't sound very unhappy about it."

"Do you expect me to? I barely knew the kid."

"I expect you to have a little respect for the lives of others," MacLeod snapped.

The ancient Immortal opened his mouth to shoot back another retort but just then the phone rang again. The three men looked at each other and Duncan hurried into the bedroom to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Long time no see, MacLeod."

The Highlander's blood turned cold at the sound of the familiar voice. "Kenny?"

"Got it in one!" the eight-hundred-year-old child exclaimed with deceptive juvenile glee. "I'm so glad you remember me, because I have something that belongs to you."

Cold turned to ice even as relief swept over him that the young man was still alive. "Richie doesn't belong to me."

"Oh. You don't want him back then? Ok. I guess I'll just have to take his head after all."

"What do you want, Kenny?" Duncan demanded.

"Just a trade. Sort of like baseball cards, or something else 'kids' like me are supposed to like to collect. I guess I just like to collect heads. And I'd much rather have yours than our young friend's here. It's much more valuable."

Mac closed his eyes. "All right. Tell me when and where."

"Not so fast, Duncan. I just wanted you to know where we stand. I'll call you in a couple of days--we can talk again then."

The line clicked and went dead.

Methos and LaCroix both stood as MacLeod stormed back into the room. "Where are they holding him?" the ancient Immortal asked.

Mac shot him a surprised look.

"Vampires have very good hearing," the older man explained.

"So then you know your daughter has really bad taste in company," Duncan spat, turning to LaCroix.

"It's appropriate in a twisted sort of way," the vampire acknowledged. "Someone her own 'age.'"

The Scot grunted and turned towards the elevator, pausing to grab his coat and sword.

"Where are you going?" Methos demanded.

"I'm going to face him!"

"MacLeod, think with your brain for once and not your Goddamned hero complex!" The older man grabbed the Highlander by his arm. "If you go up against them alone, you will have _no_ chance of surviving. None, do you understand?"

"Methos, they're just kids--"

"Eight hundred and two thousand-year-old kids, one of whom also happens to be a vampire," the ancient Immortal corrected, his voice still sharp. "If you go waltzing in there like they want you to, you will be dead. And it won't even be an _honorable_ death--how does that strike you?"

That gave the younger man pause. "So what am I supposed to do, then?" he demanded. "Let them kill Richie for their own amusement?"

"We even the odds," Methos replied grimly. "We take a couple of vampires of our own."


	5. Chapter 5

**Location Unknown  
somewhere in Seacouver**

It had been a very long night. Richie groaned again softly, rolling his head from side to side since his neck was still sore from the last time Divia had killed him. Which she'd done more times than he could count over the course of the night. Every time he'd woken up she had been there, waiting.

_Okay, in the future, remember not to piss off baby vampires,_ he chided himself. _They're as childish as real kids and a hell of a lot more painful!_

He had a feeling he was safe for the moment, though, since sunlight was doing its best to stream in through the dusty windows in the room where he was being held. From what he knew about vampires--which admittedly wasn't much--sunlight was not something she would hang around in.

Which meant that while the sun was still shining he might have a chance to escape. If he could only figure out how to get out of these handcuffs!

In another place and time, he could imagine himself enjoying very much being handcuffed, but this wasn't that place or that time and these definitely weren't the people! So instead he began squirming his hands around, trying to slip out, but the cuffs were too tight.

An idea did finally come to him but it turned his stomach only slightly less than his creepy captors. Nevertheless, it might be his only way out. So, twining his hands together, Richie pulled with all his strength and dislocated both his thumbs with a loud pop.

Reeling in pain, he bit back the scream that his mind wanted to let out. Slowly, agonizingly, he eased the cuffs over his mangled hands so that they fell empty to the floor on the other side of the pipe.

Doubling over with the pain, he crawled into a corner of the room behind the door. He prayed that no one would come in and find him before his hands could heal.

Having never tested his Immortal healing powers in quite this way before, it came as a bit of a surprise that the healing was almost as painful as the injury. Joints snapped back into place, sending stabs of agony through his arms before the tendons and muscles could even begin to repair themselves. Five long minutes later, Richie was finally able to move his fingers. Getting unsteadily to his feet, he stumbled to the window and hurled himself through it, rolling off the roof and dropping to the ground.

He had barely hit the dirt when Kenny came racing out to look for him. Richie lunged at the boy, startling him with the sheer lunacy of the unarmed attack. The child Immortal fell to the ground and his sword spun out of his hands. The young man who had been his captive pounced on it. He brought the point to rest just under Kenny's chin.

"I owe you one or two underhanded tricks, you little bastard," he hissed darkly.

The boy screamed.

Richie bolted. It didn't matter whether or not there was anyone around to hear the scream, he was not taking any chance that he'd be found holding a sword on what looked like a twelve-year-old kid!

 

**MacLeod's loft**

Duncan and Methos felt the buzz at the same time and both sprang to their feet, drawing their swords. Their concern was quickly levied, however, when the elevator opened to reveal a young man with dark strawberry-blond curls. His throat was dark with dried blood and his hands were red and swollen as if they'd just healed from a major injury. More blood was streaked across his face and stained his clothes.

"Richie!" Mac exclaimed.

The young Immortal looked up with a weak smile. He collapsed almost the minute he stepped out of the elevator. "Just call me Houdini," he slurred.

The two older men raced to his side. "I have to hand it to you, Kid," Methos remarked admiringly as they hefted him up and helped him walk to the couch. "I underestimated you."

Richie smiled at the compliment, then turned to stare at the older man, puzzled. "Pierson? What are you doing here?"

"I'll tell you in a while, after you've had a chance to recover," Adam promised.

"First, you tell us how you got away from them," Duncan agreed.

"Simple," the younger man replied with a tired but sly smile. "I waited until the vampire went to bed."

"What happened to your hands?"

"I had to get out of the cuffs somehow. Remind me, Mac, to never again let someone handcuff me--it hurt like hell getting them off."

The Highlander studied his protege's healed hands with a somber expression, realizing just how seriously the young Immortal had taken his escape.

"I couldn't let them use me to get to you, Mac," Richie explained earnestly. His voice was still blurring. "Especially since you didn't know about _her_."

"Actually, I did know," Mac admitted. "Get some rest, Richie."

Nodding gratefully, the younger man allowed his body to fall on the cushions and within seconds he was asleep.

"He lost a lot of blood," Methos stated grimly. "Judging by just the amount he was wearing and his exhaustion, I'd be willing to bet Divia kept him up all night killing him."

The Scot nodded, his nostrils flaring in fury. "Damn them," he swore softly.

His older friend nodded. "I'll tell you, Highlander, for once it's a good thing you're so damned predictable."

Duncan looked up sharply.

"Kenny and Divia will expecting you to come looking for them to avenge Richie," Methos explained. "And since it was you they wanted anyway, they'll probably stay in the same place."

 

* * *

 

**Location unknown  
somewhere in Seacouver**

"Can you do nothing without me?" Divia fumed, dark eyes flashing gold as she glared at her accomplice.

"I was with you," her companion snapped. "Entertaining you here in the basement, if you recall. Who'd have guessed you'd get so turned on by drinking from such a young one--why didn't you just seduce him while you were at it, instead of distracting me?"

"Distracting you???" The child vampire was furious now. "Do you forget, Khnum, who _taught_ you the pleasures that mortals call perversion? Who set you free from the bondage of your perpetual childhood? Without me, you would still be playing the helpless fledgling, depending on cowardice rather than cunning to catch your prey. I have made you feared among your kind, a legend to be held at bay with feeble prayers."

"And without me, you'd still be caught up in your petty revenge, with no purpose grander than to destroy your father," Kenny retorted. "You would never have even known about Immortals, let alone ever had the chance to taste one--"

Divia hissed. "My vengeance is anything but petty, and I'm glad we can finally be done with yours and go, since you have allowed our best lure to escape. I have neglected my father far too long," she sneered. "And it is not good to deprive a parent of his child's _affection_."

"I'm not done yet. Duncan MacLeod will still come."

"Without his fledgling to entice him? What makes you think he would be such a fool?"

"Because I know him. And I know that revenge means just as much to him as it does to me, to any Immortal. He'll come to avenge Richie. And we'll take him."

"He will come even though he now knows our secret?"

"For the sake of his pride, even if it means his death, he'll come."

The vampire-child hissed again, this time with pleasure. "In that case, come here, my Khnum. I am thirsty, and if I cannot drink from the youngling--"

Smiling with a look in his eyes that was disturbingly adult for his young face, Kenny tugged on the collar of his shirt, baring his throat to the other ancient child.


	6. Chapter 6

**MacLeod's loft  
that night**

"Have a beer, Richie?" Adam asked as the younger Immortal wandered in from Duncan's bedroom several hours later. Richie apparently kept an emergency change of clothes at the loft, because the bloody shirt he'd been wearing earlier had been replaced.

"Don't mind if I do. Where's Mac?"

"Meeting a friend at the airport." He tossed a beer can to the other man. "Have a seat--we need to talk."

Curious, Richie obeyed and seated himself on the couch at the opposite end from the other Immortal. "What's up?"

There was a long pause as the older man sipped his beer with a thoughtful look on his face. "Richie...how much do you know of the lore of Immortals? Of our own myths and legends?"

"Only what Mac told me. I don't know how much that is."

"Are you familiar with the legend of the oldest Immortal?"

"Methos? Sure, I've heard of him. Why?" He took a drink from his own can.

"Well, because I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest with you. Adam Pierson isn't my real name--Methos is."

Richie spat his beer out all over the couch.

Methos winced. _Damn, I hope MacLeod doesn't expect me to clean that up!_

"_YOU_ are Methos??? The oldest living Immortal???"

"Yes to the first question, and so far as I know there's not an older one around, so yes to the second as well."

"But--but--!"

"No, Methos isn't just a myth, yes, I know I certainly don't look or act my age, and no, I am not pulling your leg." He regarded the younger man frankly. "Does that answer your questions?"

"All but one--why are you telling me this?"

"Because..." Methos sighed. "If you're going to help us take care of this little unholy alliance, you need to know."

Richie nodded, a grim expression coming into his eyes. "All right. So what's the plan?"

"Mac is right now at the airport, picking up the friend of a friend. This friend of mine, as well as his friend, are both also vampires."

The young man visibly paled.

"They are, as I said before, friends," the ancient Immortal reassured him. "So, I can promise you they will not behave anything like Divia."

"Good."

"When MacLeod returns with Janette, she and LaCroix are both going to take turns killing me."

Once again, the younger man paled. "Why?" he choked out.

"Because they need the power in my blood, my age and experience. Divia is older and more powerful than both of them and she has probably been drinking from many Immortals besides you. Many older Immortals. Without my blood in their veins, they would have little hope of defeating her and we would all be lost."

Richie nodded. "Got it."

"We need you to help us find where they are hiding."

"Hey, whatever I can do to help," the young Immortal promised.

"You just have to promise me one thing--once we get there, you will stay out of the way and not come inside. It's going to take both LaCroix and Janette to keep Divia from draining me, and I can't risk getting distracted."

Although he was not always known for following orders, the young man nodded. His own memory reinforced the gravity of Methos' words. Richie shuddered again. "What about Mac?"

The ancient Immortal sighed. "MacLeod isn't going."

"He agreed to stay behind?" Richie sounded astonished.

"He doesn't know yet. But if I have to shoot the stubborn fool to keep him here, he's staying."

The younger man snorted. "Boy, is he gonna be thrilled to hear you say that."

"I'm not here to thrill Duncan MacLeod," was the dry retort.

 

* * *

 

**MacLeod's loft  
later that night**

"All right, now that everyone's here, I'll make introductions." Methos pointed to each of them in turn. "Duncan MacLeod, Richie Ryan, Lucien LaCroix, Janette DuCharme. Now, let's get down to business, shall we?"

Richie had to shake his head to clear the cobwebs. He'd known from her name that Methos' friend's friend was a woman, still he hadn't been expecting her to be so...breathtaking. Janette turned to look at him knowingly, then smiled and slipped an arm through LaCroix's.

The young Immortal turned scarlet.

"Janette, how much of our plan did Lucius and MacLeod explain to you?" the ancient Immortal asked.

"Lucien and I will drink from you to gain the power of your age and Immortality, then we are responsible for disposing of _ma vilaine petite soeur_, while you will take care of the Immortal child."

Methos nodded. "And Richie is going to make sure we show up at the right place."

"What about me?" Mac demanded.

"You, Highlander, are holding down the fort and getting your ass out of Seacouver if for any reason we don't come back."

MacLeod's jaw dropped. "What??"

"I'd like to keep the number of Immortals involved in this venture as small as possible," the older man explained. "Fewer distractions, so to speak."

"But you're going to risk Richie's life again by taking him along??"

Richie turned away from his mentor, hiding a smirk.

"Richie has strict orders to stay out of things once we get there," Methos stated with a glance at the young man.

"Oh, he's really good at following orders," was Duncan's sarcastic response.

"This time I will be, Mac," the youngest Immortal promised. He shivered. "Trust me, I have no interest in running into those two again!"

"I still don't like it," the Highlander declared.

"Of course not. You don't like any adventure where you don't get to play the hero," Methos stated calmly. "But the fact remains, there is such a thing as too many cooks spoiling the Haggis--to use a metaphor I'm sure you'll understand--and since you're the only one we don't absolutely need, you get to stay home."

Mac just scowled and fell silent.


	7. Chapter 7

**Duncan's loft  
two hours later**

Methos sat up gasping for the eighth or ninth time that night, bringing his hands to his face. "God, I hate that part! Even after five thousand years, it's still a pain in the ass."

Janette pressed one pale hand to his forehead, frowning. "_Bien_, it is enough."

"No," Methos contradicted her sharply. "Once more, each."

"Methos, _mon ami_, you will need all your strength. If we drink from you again, you will be weak, even if you heal."

"She's right, old friend," LaCroix contributed.

"Besides, Old Timer, we're running out of time," Richie added. He hadn't yet been able to bring himself to actually call the ancient Immortal by his name. "If we don't go soon, we might not be able to get back before dawn."

"All right, all right," Methos grumped. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and started to stand wobbily. "Just let me get my sword."

"_Non_, you get your strength back," Janette scolded.

"Where's MacLeod?" the older man asked, worried.

"Downstairs in the dojo," Richie nodded towards the elevator with a smirk. "He's actively sulking."

"_Actively_ sulking?"

"He's doing a kata."

"Ah." The oldest member of the group studied the youngest with a wry smirk. "You're enjoying this immensely, aren't you?"

The other Immortal looked up innocently. "What?"

"The fact that you're included in our little party and MacLeod isn't."

Richie shrugged, his face turning a mild shade of pink. "A little, yeah. You gotta admit, Old Man, I don't get many opportunities like this."

"I wouldn't know--you and I haven't exactly spent much time together."

The younger man laughed. "True." His face sobered then. "I think I'm going to go downstairs and talk to Mac. I'll meet you guys outside, okay?"

Methos gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and a sympathetic smile. "Sure."

The ancient Immortal watched him go, feeling a twinge of regret for his callous words to Joe only days ago. He'd always avoided getting to know Richie very well--after all, their first meeting hadn't exactly given him the most favorable impression of the kid--but just the events since the young man's escape that morning had made him reevaluate his unconcern. The young Immortal deserved to live a damned long life, whether he was still standing at the end of the Game or not. And he deserved to have someone other than just Duncan the Self-Righteous watching over him to make sure he got it.

The older man turned to the two vampires. "LaCroix?" he said simply.

LaCroix nodded in answer to the unasked question. "You have my word, Methos."

 

* * *

 

**Duncan's dojo**

"Hey, Mac."

The older man looked up from his routine to where his student was standing in the doorway, wearing a sheepish smile. He returned the smile with a lopsided one of his own. "Hey, Rich."

"Look...about this whole thing...I'm sorry--"

"For what?" his mentor interrupted him.

"For rubbing it in."

"Oh, come on. Don't tell me your memory's failing that badly already."

His protege blinked, puzzled. "Mac?"

"It isn't as if I've never had a laugh at your expense," the older man elaborated with a deliberately nonchalant shrug.

Richie laughed. "True."

"You can't control what Methos does, Richie. I don't think anybody could tell him what to do and expect to be listened to. And as much as I hate to admit it, they do need you."

The younger man nodded. "Thanks."

"Just promise me you'll come back in one piece."

"I'll do my best." After a brief, awkward silence, the young Immortal flashed his teacher a half-hearted smile and turned to leave.

"Richie--"

The younger man turned back, a curious expression on his face.

"I don't want you going in there without a sword."

"Mac, it's okay--I promised to stay out of trouble."

The Highlander nodded. "Yeah, I know. But just in case trouble comes looking for you..." He pulled out a sword case something like the one that had once held the rapier, only wider and flatter. Opening it, he drew out a silvery Gothic Bastard sword with a hilt wrapped in black leather.

"Here. It belonged to a friend of mine, named Graham Ashe."

"Mac, I can't," Richie protested, overwhelmed.

"Look, if it makes you feel any better, you can return it if you find yours. But if not...well, it's not doing me any good lying around here."

His young friend nodded, still awed. "Thanks." After an awkward moment, he turned again to leave.

When he was gone, Duncan moved to the window and stared out of it down at the parking lot. After a few moments, the group emerged, all dressed casually. They headed for the T-Bird, which he had agreed to loan them since Methos didn't stay in one place long enough to own a car, neither of the vampires felt a need for one, and the whole group wouldn't fit on Richie's bike.

Watching them climb in, the Highlander let out a low sigh. As if he'd heard, the young Immortal glanced back up at the building and waved briefly at the mentor he didn't know was watching. Duncan nodded unseen in response, one corner of his mouth turning up in a rueful smile. "Be careful," he murmured.


	8. Chapter 8

**An abandoned house on the edge of town  
Seacouver**

"This is it," Richie informed them grimly, pointing to the empty building on their left. It was a large Victorian manor and run down enough to bear a striking resemblance to the stereotypical Hollywood haunted house. His conviction was almost immediately confirmed by the warning buzz. There was definitely an Immortal somewhere in that house--somewhere close.

Methos nodded and pulled the Thunderbird up before the house, his lips twisting in irony. "How appropriate," he murmured.

"For a house of horrors, you mean?" the younger Immortal quipped. "No kidding." He shivered.

"Remember, you keep out of this," the ancient one warned him as he turned off the engine and opened the car door, followed by LaCroix and Janette.

Richie raised his hands in willing surrender. "No problem. Like I said, I have no interest in ever seeing the inside of this place again."

"If for any reason we don't come out," the older Immortal continued, "You get your ass out of here. Out of the country, preferably. And take MacLeod with you."

"Yeah, well you'll forgive me if I pray it doesn't come to that."

"Please do--I'll take all the gods I can get on our side right now," was the sardonic reply.

Janette smiled, squeezing Methos' arm. Then, as planned, she hung back a moment while her former master and the ancient Immortal crossed the yard to the house.

Both of the men still remembered a time when twelve or thirteen was a perfectly reasonable time for a young girl to get married and a boy would almost certainly have taken his first lover. Both knew the statistics for teenage and pre-teenage sexuality in the twentieth century as well. But even so, the image presented before them when they opened the door had an aura of the unnatural about it.

This was not the fumbling of two children trying to grow up too fast. Nor was it the frightened eagerness of a child bride to please her older, more experienced bedmate. It was a dark, perverse satire of an adult relationship, passionate but not with love, violent, hungry, and shameless to the point of exhibitionism.

"Divia!" LaCroix exclaimed in horror.

The two eternal children broke apart, turning to look at the newcomers.

"What's wrong, Father?" Divia taunted. "Don't you want to meet your new son-in-law?" She nipped savagely at Kenny's ear, drawing blood and sucking hungrily on it. Eyes gleaming with delight at her father's revulsion drifted to rest on Methos and her face twisted with scorn.

"Well, my Khnum, it seems you were wrong," she taunted. "Duncan MacLeod has apparently refused our little invitation."

Kenny had already made this observation and he pulled away from her, eying the other Immortal with open hostility. "Where's MacLeod?" he demanded.

"We didn't have room for him in the car."

"You think I went to all this trouble for some nobody?" the boy retorted.

"Oh, I'd hardly call myself a nobody," the older Immortal smirked.

"I want MacLeod," Kenny insisted childishly.

Methos shrugged and turned as if to leave. "Very well. If you'd rather have MacLeod than Methos, I suppose I can go fetch him for you."

That casual statement riveted the eyes of both Divia and her companion to him.

"Methos?" Kenny asked almost breathlessly.

"You, of all people, ought to know that appearances can be deceiving," the ancient Immortal replied softly.

"Divia!" the boy exclaimed.

She flew at him, only to find her way blocked by her father. "Get out of my way," she spat. "You can't hold me!"

"Perhaps not," Janette's voice came out of nowhere and Divia spun to face her. "But you cannot fight us both, _ma petite souer_."

The child vampire shrieked, her eyes gleaming gold. With a strength that surprised even the other two of her kind, she grabbed Janette by the throat.

"I am no one's _little_ sister!" she spat, and hurled the other woman across the room.

Suddenly furious, LaCroix seized his child-master by one arm and pulled her roughly towards him. He pinched her face tightly in one hand. "Don't _ever_ do that again!" he growled.

Divia struggled, her eyes almost blood red with rage. "Careful, father," she hissed. "You wouldn't want to be accused of child abuse."

"As you've been so careful to demonstrate, Divia," he replied coldly. "You are no longer a child." With that, he threw her against the door, which splintered under the impact. Outside, Richie fell back with a loud curse as the battle exploded into view. Instinct made him clutch the sword Mac had given him. Thankfully, Divia was too absorbed with her father and Janette to notice.

While the three vampires struggled, Kenny faced the older Immortal, his sword held unsteadily before him and his face white.

"Surprise," Methos taunted. "Guess you should have listened to all those people who tried to teach you to fight fair."

Knowing he was outmatched but driven by anger, the child Immortal lunged. "Why you?" he demanded. "Why you and not MacLeod?"

The ancient Immortal easily parried his weak blow. "I don't have MacLeod's moral aversion to killing demons in the guise of children."

Now even angrier, Kenny attacked again, his futile rage fueled even more by every blow the older man blocked. "Damn you!" he swore. "Damn you to hell, Methos!"

Driving his sword through the boy Immortal's defenses and into his stomach, Methos grimaced. "Not tonight," he vowed.

Across the room, LaCroix and Janette were both weakening. Divia struck at them with every weapon she had, from her claw-like nails to her fangs. There seemed to be a poison in her touch that even Methos' blood couldn't counteract.

Kenny fell to his knees and Richie drifted towards the spectacle, his heart pounding with fear. If the two vampires failed, Divia could easily tear Methos' head from his body while he was still weak from the Quickening. The younger Immortal knew if that happened, his own demise wouldn't be far behind. Neither of which he wanted to see.

Then Methos struck and the deceptively youthful blond head fell to the floor.

Divia spun away from her two opponents. "NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!" she wailed.

Janette took advantage of the elder vampire's distraction to seize up a splintered piece of wood from the door and drive it into her back.

It was a gruesome spectacle--the scarlet-eyed child staring incredulously into nothing, blood gurgling over her lips and a wooden stake protruding from the center of her chest as the Quickening exploded behind her.

The storm wrapped itself around the ancient Immortal, tearing his voice out of his body in a strangled but triumphant cry. It ripped through the house, shattering windows, setting the electrical wires alive and igniting the silent fireplace in the center of the barren room. Then it ended and Methos doubled over in exhaustion, burying his head in his hands.

Divia looked up at her father, her eyes still wide with shock. "Father," she gasped weakly. "Help...me..."

Incredibly, he started towards her but was stopped by Janette's firm hand on his arm. "LaCroix, no," she insisted with more strength than she felt.

Unnerved, Richie stepped forward, just as Divia stumbled backwards toward the door. He raised his sword and swung.

LaCroix turned away, unable to watch as his daughter's head rolled from her shoulders and across the room, coming to rest against that of her lover. The woman who had called him master for a thousand years wrapped her arms around him, murmuring words of comfort.

Methos struggled to his feet, crossed the room, and leaned against the door frame to glare at Richie. "I thought I told you to stay out of this."

The younger Immortal smiled meekly and shrugged. "Yeah, well. Like Mac said, I've never been very good at taking orders."

With a curt laugh, Methos reached out a fatherly hand to scramble the younger man's hair. "Thank god for that!"


	9. Chapter 9

It didn't take long to take stock of the battle. The house had been largely destroyed by the three vampires and the Quickening, but the two bodies still needed to be disposed of--headless children would draw much too much unneeded attention. On top of that, LaCroix and Janette were both still weak, their bodies for some reason refusing to heal the wounds that Divia had inflicted on them.

The ancient Immortal studied those injuries gravely, his mouth drawn into a tight, grim line. Finally he drew his sword in a sudden slashing line across his wrist and held it to his ancient friend.

LaCroix turned his head away from the tantalizing flow of blood. "Methos, no--"

"Lucius, in the nineteen centuries we've known each other, I've always treated you as an equal. Don't make me break my perfect record by _forcing_ you to drink from me, damn it!"

The vampire glared at his friend but was too weak to fight the thirst. Pulling the Immortal's wrist to his mouth, he began to drink savagely.

Richie offered his own wrist to Janette. She didn't argue, only sank her teeth in gratefully as he resisted the impulse to pull away. Janette wasn't Divia, he reminded himself. She wouldn't drain him over and over again just for her own amusement.

With almost miraculous self-control, the vampire did indeed manage to pull away from the young Immortal before he began to grow faint. "_Merci_," she whispered with a feeble smile.

Apparently they had judged correctly that the fresh Immortal blood might counteract the poison even if it hadn't blocked it. When LaCroix's strength finally began to return, Methos offered himself in turn to Janette. When they were both mostly healed, conversation turned instead to disposing of the unpleasant evidence of their activities.

"The easiest way would be to just burn the house," the older Immortal pointed out.

"No." LaCroix's voice was firm and cold.

Methos turned to look at him, his face painted with exasperation. "Lucius--"

"Do what you like with the boy, Methos. But in spite of everything...Divia is still my daughter."

"And look what happened last time you decided to give her a decent burial," the older man retorted.

"Then I will give her a decent pyre instead. But I will not allow her to be burned in this way, like so much rubbish. As evil as she was...she was my child. I cannot just disregard that bond."

After a long, drawn moment between the two men, the older one finally nodded. "All right."

Richie gaped at them and Methos turned to glare at him. "What? Even five thousand year old men can be wrong once in a while."

The younger Immortal's mouth snapped shut and he grinned broadly. "Can I use that on Mac next time he gets all high-and-mighty?"

"No, you can't," Methos retorted. "All that would accomplish is he would use it against me."

Richie laughed and LaCroix chuckled ruefully.

Standing, the ancient vampire crossed the room to where Divia's headless body lay. He sighed deeply, eyes dark with sorrow, then bent down to pick up the corpse which he cradled in his arms like a sick child. By silent consent, Janette collected Divia's head while the two Immortals picked up Kenny's body and head and the four carried their burdens out of the house.

 

* * *

 

**Some time later...**

The flames stood out bright and golden against the black sky as they spread over the pyre. Several feet away stood the four, LaCroix' eyes never leaving the shrouded form of his daughter. Janette was behind him, her hand on his arm a constant but unobtrusive presence.

Richie's face was no less pensive. As much as he'd hated Kenny by the time the child Immortal had finally been defeated, watching his body slowly wither into ash brought back different emotions. Emotions he'd felt when he thought the boy was exactly what he seemed--a frightened child just beginning to face a grim destiny. He'd identified with that child even as he thanked whatever power controlled his destiny that he'd been given a few more years before crossing the threshold. Because he'd come just far enough to have a chance of surviving. For the short time before the kid's true nature showed, he'd considered him a spiritual brother.

Both the ancient vampire and the young Immortal couldn't help but wonder who the childlike pair could have been if not deprived of the chance to grow up.

The fire was still high and the bodies still unconsumed when Methos suggested quietly that they should be returning. "As it is, we'll be cutting it rather close with the sunrise," he pointed out.

"You go on. I will follow shortly," LaCroix stated calmly.

Methos nodded, knowing the vampire could cover the distance much more quickly in flight. "How are you doing, old friend?" he asked.

"As well as one can expect of a father who has lost his child," he replied honestly. "I will never cease to wonder if I somehow failed her, if there was something I could have done besides end her life. But for the moment...I want only a few minutes alone with her...to say goodbye."

Conceding to his wishes, the other three turned away towards the Thunderbird. LaCroix watched them disappear before looking back to Divia's pyre.

A sad smile twisted his lips as he murmured, "I may even say a prayer for her soul."

* * *

**Behind the dojo  
the next night**

"Will you be coming back to Toronto, _cherie_?" LaCroix asked as the other vampire prepared to leave.

Janette shook her head with a sad smile. "_Non, mon pere._ I have already said goodbye to that city and all its entanglements." She leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek. "But perhaps, one day, you will give up on _Nicolas_ and come to visit me."

"Perhaps I shall," he agreed with a calm smile of his own. "In the meantime, you must keep me in your correspondence. Your letters often provide a much needed diversion."

"You will always be in my correspondence, just as you will always be in _ma coeur_."

LaCroix lifted her hand to his lips to place a kiss on it, then released it with surprising reluctance. Turning to the two Immortals, she gave them each a peck on the cheek--laughing when Richie turned crimson--then disappeared into the night sky.

The ancient vampire then turned to the two as well.

"Methos." He grasped his old friend's hand firmly.

"Take care of yourself, Lucius."

Richie smiled as LaCroix held out a hand to him. "Maybe we'll meet again, someday," the young Immortal suggested. "In another life, so to speak."

"I shall plan on it," the older man responded politely. "Someday I may even be able to give back to you a part of what Methos gave me when I was young."

Richie nodded. "I'd like that," he agreed.

With one last careful look around to make sure no one but the two was watching the alley where they stood, the vampire stepped into the sky and vanished within moments.

"Now," Methos suggested, turning to the younger Immortal. "What say we go break in that new sword of yours?" They had failed to locate the rapier.

"*You* want to spar with me?" the young man feigned disbelief.

The ancient one tried to look affronted. "Look, I may not be as good as MacLeod, but five thousand years of experience ought to count for *something* against a whelp such as yourself."

Richie glared at the older man as he followed him into the building. "Hey, who're you calling a whelp!"

"Of course, if you'd prefer 'brat'--"

The younger Immortal shook his head vigorously. "On second thought, 'whelp' is fine."

> _I have you fast in my fortress,  
> And I will not let you depart,  
> But put you down into the dungeon  
> In the round-tower of my heart._
> 
> And there will I keep you forever,  
> Yes, forever and a day,  
> Till the wall shall crumble to ruin,  
> And moulder in dust away.  
> \--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "The Children's Hour"


End file.
